


fires that burn

by theleavesoflorien



Category: Thronebreaker: The Witcher Tales (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gascon-centric, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:49:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29890356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleavesoflorien/pseuds/theleavesoflorien
Summary: “Gweilge’s gone, Father. Ye see, ‘e were ridin’ with us at the front when there were screamin’ comin’ from th’ ‘amlet, an’ next thing we knew— poof! ‘e were gone."“D’you figure he made off on a rescue mission to see to it that no one stayed behind, then?” Gascon asked quickly, reigning in the panic he could feel rearing its head inside him like an ugly beast.“Aye, reckon he did.”“Then there’s no time to lose.”Or: Gweilge acts on instinct and puts himself in harm's way, and Gascon is anything but indifferent.(This story is a sequel toready to runbut can also be read independently.)
Relationships: Gascon Brossard/OMC
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5
Collections: sharp blades gentle fingers





	fires that burn

“‘M sorry — _what_ did you say, man?”

Gascon frowned sharply at the red-faced dwarf standing in front of him, taking in the nervous twitch of his single cornflower blue eye. 

“Gweilge’s gone, Father,” Malvin repeated, out of breath. “Ye see, ‘e were ridin’ with us at the front when there were screamin’ comin’ from th’ ‘amlet, an’ next thing we knew— poof! ‘e were gone. Dinnae ken what ‘appened meself, but Elsbeth swore she saw ‘im ‘eid toward th’ ‘ouses.”

Gascon noted that the dwarf’s podgy hands were wringing the handle of the axe he was holding. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly, and it seemed as though the smoke rising in dark columns towards the stormy sky at some five rods’ distance made dangerous shadows dance in their depths. 

_If Fearless Malvin himself’s got his knickers all in a twist, then somethin’ ain’t right. That can only mean—_

“D’you figure he made off on a rescue mission to see to it that no one stayed behind, then?” Gascon asked quickly, reigning in the panic he could feel rearing its head inside him like an ugly beast.

“Aye, reckon he did.”

“Then there’s no time to lose.”

Gascon took a single steadying breath, focusing for a moment on he metallic clang of weapons clashing nearby and the shouts of his lads and lasses calling to each other as they rounded up a group of humans.

When his voice boomed over the racket to be heard by all, it was every bit as sure and confident as it always was — as it always needed to be.

“My dearest Falcons! Keep up the magnificent work — soon enough, we’ll have captured all the bastard arsonists we’ve been contracted to find and taught them a lesson they won’t forget anytime soon! After this amicable run-in with us, surely Radovid supporters foamin’ at the mouth at the prospect of spillin’ innocent blood are goin’ to think twice before plottin’ to decimate another non-human community.”

“Hells yeah!”

“We gon’ show ‘em, we will!”

“Falcons! Falcons!”

As cheers erupted all around Gascon, he cupped his hands around his mouth and gave a loud bird’s call; a chaotic, cacophonous concert of _kak-kak-kak_ s answered him, making some of the prisoners amongst the group flinch visibly at how very beastly and little human the thunderous shouts sounded.

“Let’s bring this to an end!” Gascon continued with a wide grin as soon as the jubilant cries had somewhat quieted down. “As the strongest and most resistant amongst our humble group, our most illustrious Betsy has already been tasked with trying to extract any remaining survivors from Ashbourne and should already be there as we speak. Fayza, Lilith, Adriano, Nazar — utilise your legendary stealth to look around for any arsonists who might’ve escaped our clutches, will you? Celestia — I understand you’ve already spent a great deal of energy usin' your magic tryin’ to contain the fires, but d’you think there’s enough strength left in you to go take a look at the wounded as well? Wouldn’t want any o’ them to die on us after the fact, now would we?”

“Indeed we wouldn’t, O Holy Father! I’ll do my utmost.”

“Splendid, that’s my girl! Th’ rest o’ you — make sure to give these fire-loving fanatics the hardest time you can while yours truly is away on some… trivial business for a little while.”

After bowing low in a dramatic salute, Gascon turned away from the cheering crowd with a grin, immediately heading towards the hamlet at a brisk pace, and as he did the grin fell off his face like a grotesque mask cast aside. Wrinkles of worry suddenly pulling at his mouth and eyes, he mumbled a colourful curse at the dried grass crunching beneath his boots and the air thick with smoke:

“Gods be _fuckin’_ damned, Gweilge!” 

The roll of gathering thunder echoed ominously in the distance.

Gascon listened. 

On the outskirts of Ashbourne, a woman was howling piercingly — _like one o’ them wraiths I fought with Meve and company a lifetime ago_ , Gascon thought. Hens and pigs were squealing in distress. A resounding _boom_ marked the caving in of some building or structure. And underneath it all, Gascon heard just what Malvin had reported: faint, high-pitched screaming almost drowned out by the hungry roar of flames licking at wood and straw.

_That’s it. That’s where I’ll find him. Oh, Melitele’s tits…_

By the time Gascon made it to the hamlet’s eastern border and the sickening stench of burning flesh travelled to meet him, Gascon found he was well and truly out of breath — something he couldn’t remember happening in a long, long while. The tableau of fire and darkness before him seemed to shimmer strangely as he watched, like a ghastly mirage slipping from his grasp, and Gascon had to remind himself to take a deep breath. And another. And another.

_In; out. In; out. In; out._

“Sir! Please help us, good sir!” a shrill, pitiful voice called out from one of the groups of rescued elven peasants huddled closest to the scene. “Tha’ big house with th’ backyard o’er there — th’ young uns are still inside! E’en tha’ giant o’ yours couldn’t get in, and ‘twas so long ago now Angharad saw a man wi’ long hair find a way inside! Oh, such sweet, sweet chil’ren… I fear part o’ th’ roof’s already fallen—” 

Gascon had stopped listening — couldn’t listen any longer. An odd, unfamiliar noise rose up his throat when he trained his keen gaze on the building the man was pointing at: little more than a crumbling ruin barely held together by a few pieces of charred wood still red-hot with the glow of embers. 

_Blast it all, barely anything’s left o’ that house... Could collapse in on itself any second. Doubt anyone who goes in can make it out at this point._

His gloved fingers trembling slightly, Gascon took off his infamous feathered hat and bent down to place it next to his foot. 

The sky rumbled in warning again. The house had gone dreadfully silent.

“I’m comin’, Gweilge.” 

* * *

_Smoke and shadow._

_Heat. Unbearable heat, like a nest of poisonous vipers crawling under the skin._

_And then—_

_A voice he knew all too well._

_A hand in his._

* * *

They made it out just in time, but a few minutes before what remained of the roof finally gave way in a formidable crash.

By then, it seemed like the flames had licked most of the hamlet clean and gone out at last, their ravenous hunger sated. Everything had gone dark — whether due to the cursèd fumes or to the host of menacing clouds that had drifted closer, Gascon couldn’t tell.

As for the survivors, a bad cough and a few minor burns and bruises were all they had to show for having nearly died that day. 

Hunched over in exhaustion, Gascon cleared his throat a few times to try to dislodge the thick burning sensation left behind by the smoke as he watched the three elven children run to their families as fast as their small feet could carry them. For a while, he was unable to tear his gaze from the tearful scene and his eyes stung uncomfortably — from the suffocating air that had choked the inside of the building minutes before, no doubt.

 _Ha, family reunions… An’ here I almost thought I’d lost part o’ mine, too._

Gascon blinked, blinked again, and finally turned to leave, irked by the realisation that he could still feel a barely-there shaking in his hands. 

He needed to find his hat, head back to the Falcons and ask Celestia for her miraculous herbal remedy against superficial burns.

He needed to get the _fuck_ away.

“Hey, Gascon! Where are you going?” a deep voice—significantly hoarser than usual—called after him. When Gascon didn’t answer and kept on walking stubbornly, his lips set in a hard line, he heard the quiet padding of boots following in his steps.

Part of Gascon wanted to slow down.

He didn’t.

The steps quickened in response, until they were right behind him; then Gascon’s arm was grabbed gently from behind. 

“Don’t touch me!” Gascon snapped as he spun around violently, so fast his aching head pounded at the motion. 

There he was… Gweilge, his Gweilge, the light brown skin of his face covered in soot. There were tense lines at the corners of his mouth, and some of his hair stuck messily to his sweaty forehead. Gascon swallowed at the naked shock he glimpsed in Gweilge’s wide eyes as their gazes met, but he refused to take his words back.

“What— what was that about?” Gweilge asked calmly after a few seconds of stunned silence. Although he did not look away, a muscle twitched delicately underneath his left eye. “Talk to me.”

“Humph… You want us to talk, do ya? Would’ve been nice to do that _earlier_ , if you catch my meanin’.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.” 

“Of course you don’t. You’re always so intent on us _communicatin’_ , talkin’ things out — clearly only when it suits you, though, am I right?”

“Gascon, will you quit throwing vague, snarky accusations at me and just _tell_ me what the problem is?”

“I’ll tell ya what the problem is! You’re fuckin’ selfish, is what you are! You went after those kids wantin’ to play the goddamn hero, not giving a rat’s arse about the consequences!”

“And how exactly would you know that?”

“ _Precisely_! How could I know anythin', when you simply up and left without a word?”

“I did what I had to do, Gascon.”

“Oh, you did, didn’t ya? Did it occur to you at any point, though, that by goin' off on your own you essentially cut yourself off from the group and might’ve been left for dead in that blasted building? You know how our codex goes: we stick together, but anyone who leaves on personal business is on their own.”

“I know very well what the codex says. Still, I had to do it.”

“ _WHY_?”

“The children needed to be saved.”

“So you were ready to throw _your_ life to the devils in exchange for theirs? You know we Falcons can’t always save everyone — that’s part of the job!”

“Oh, stop pretending to be so callous! I know you’re not, so do us both a favour and drop the act.”

“It ain’t no bloody _act_ , alright? I just happen to think that riskin’ everythin’ for a bunch of strangers is foolish!”

“What would you’ve had me do instead, huh? Abandon them to a certain death like I did my sister?”

Gweilge’s raspy voice cracked like a whip in the smoke-heavy air. Gascon, by now panting and clenching his hands into fists, felt his heart sink like a stone in his chest when he saw that unshed tears were brimming in Gweilge’s eyes, reflecting the overcast sky back at him. His hot anger was doused and extinguished straight away, leaving only cold, shivering regret in his bones. 

_Gods be damned… What have I done?_

“Gweilge, I—” 

“Please don’t,” came the clipped answer. “I’ve had enough arguing for today.”

Before he’d finished his sentence, Gweilge turned away and started pacing around the parched earth like a wounded animal in a cage, appearing smaller than he was because of his back hunched over in defeat. His body was wracked with a cough.

Gascon tracked his movements miserably, his teeth digging into his lower lip with so much force he felt a sting and tasted a hint of copper on his tongue. 

When Gweilge’s pacing had slowed down and he simply stood there with his chin down, Gascon risked in a soft, soft tone:

“What, er… What if I promise not to do any more arguing?”

“Can you really make that promise?”

“I can.”

Gweilge assessed Gascon in silence with a dubious frown, his left arm curled around his middle in a defensive position. His left thumb was rubbing the crook of his right arm reflexively where it rested on it.

Gascon, feeling like a petrified little boy under the scrutiny, fought an urge to fidget with the strap of his leather belt.

_If he walks away now, there won’t be nothin’ to blame but my own stupidity._

Yet it turned out Gascon might be granted more than he thought he deserved, for—

“Mmm, alright,” Gweilge pronounced after a little while in a quiet, quiet voice. “Say your piece.”

It seemed Gascon had been given a chance to make things right again, and—by the gods he didn’t even believe in—he was going to take it. 

For a moment, all he did was watch Gweilge: the dust and ash peppered over his long eyelashes like snow; the single tear that had escaped and run down his cheek, leaving a damp trail behind. Then Gascon said the very first thing that needed to be said:

“It wasn’t your fault, my love. What happened to Pelydryn — it simply wasn’t your fault.”

At that, Gweilge’s gaze fell to his feet. He didn’t look up for several long seconds, entirely motionless but for the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. 

_Mmm. Lookin' dark memories in the eye — never easy, that._

“I know you’d rather not talk too much about it, and that’s fine,” Gascon continued gently, the hushed words grating unpleasantly on his sore throat. “But I just can’t listen to you blame yourself for it all and not say a thing.”

Although Gascon’s fingers itched to find Gweilge’s and squeeze them to offer whatever comfort he could, he still couldn’t be certain the gesture would be well received. 

And so he waited.

“What of those things you said?” Gweilge eventually asked, looking up at Gascon piercingly. “You accused me of being irrational and foolhardy — yet the elven children _had_ to be rescued from a cruel death at the hand of black-hearted humans, just like Pela should’ve been before them. Children cannot be allowed to die as casualties of hatred and fear. Do you disagree?”

“I don’t — you know that.” 

“Then why speak those words and act like it matters not what befalls innocents who can’t possibly defend themselves? I know that’s not you, Gascon.”

“I… Um…”

There was a long pause. Only faint, muted voices could be heard, drifting on the breeze which had begun blowing over the destruction surrounding them and chasing away the fumes. The air had grown damp and fresh, Gascon realised; the promise of rain hung so heavy it almost seemed to have a weight of its own.

The words were reluctant to come out, favouring the familiar safety afforded by silence. But Gascon was nothing if not determined and exceedingly stubborn. 

“Y’see, thing is... I care about helpin’ others, I do — especially when they simply happened to draw the short end o’ the stick in life, and luckier people abuse their own good fortune to exploit their vulnerability and strike them where it hurts. But there’s somethin’ I care about even more than that. Somethin’ I care about above much else.”

“Oh, and what would that be?”

“You.” 

At that, Gweilge’s almost-black eyes widened and lost all traces of cool wariness, instead turning so warm, so affectionate, that they seemed to thaw the icy dread that had gripped Gascon’s chest.

_There’s no holdin’ back now. Not anymore._

“I know it probably makes me damned selfish,” Gascon continued with a small smile, feeling emboldened, “but, when it came down to ’t, I was so afraid to lose you I would’ve sacrificed anythin' to ensure you're safe. ‘M sorry that fear made me act like a right prick.”

Gweilge was now holding back a smile of his own; Gascon saw it in the nearly imperceptible twitching at the corners of his mouth and the lines of laughter deepening around his eyes.

One of them—Gascon couldn’t tell who—took one step forward. Then another. Soon enough, they were so close Gascon had to crane his neck a little bit to look up at Gweilge. 

_Mmm, tha’s the way I like it._

Gweilge’s voice was earnest yet ever so kind when he said:

“You do know, dearest, that danger is an inevitable part of our lives _and_ our job? Always has been; always will be. I’m afraid there’ll come many more such moments when either of us will be rubbing elbows with death.”

“You’re right, o’ course,” Gascon admitted. “But usually I’d be right behind you, and I’d rest relatively easy knowin’ you’ve got me and the Falcons to watch your back. This time was different. Since you left on your own, I might’ve had to leave you behind; in fact, I probably shouldn’t ‘ve gone after you at all.” 

Gweilge seemed to ponder his words for a moment, stroking his chin with soot-blackened fingers in thought.

“Mmm, I see… I hadn’t realised my actions would put you in a difficult position because of your obligations as our leader. In truth, I can’t say I thought of much at all when I left for the hamlet, save that I was urgently needed there. I’m sorry, Gas.”

“Bah, don’t think of it! All forgiven already, darlin’.”

Gweilge hummed low, the long, deep scar on his face twisting a little when he— _at long last_ , Gascon thought fondly—gave a genuine, sincere smile. His lips were dry and very pink, and Gascon wanted terribly to trace their outline with his tongue and kiss them until the grey of the sky slowly trickled into dark blue.

“Good, good,” Gweilge sighed contentedly. “Still, though — in the future, I promise to be more mindful of the risks of separating myself from the group and acting on my own. Wouldn’t want to upset you like this again.”

“‘S alright, don’t worry about good ol’ me! What matters is that you stay alive, y’ hear me, sweet’eart?”

“Well, if my staying alive can make it so you won’t be upset… Two birds, one stone, so to speak.” 

“Mmm indeed, guess it’s a win-win. So you’re goin’ to tell me next time you want to steer off while we’re on an assignment?”

“I will.”

“Wonderful!” 

There was a beat of comfortable silence. Gascon’s gaze was still trained on Gweilge’s mouth, and he felt almost parched with the sheer intensity of his desire to taste it. 

“What about me — am I forgiven as well?” he prompted hopefully a few moments later, swallowing around his dry throat. Confident he wouldn’t be overstepping any boundaries at this stage, he reached blindly for one of Gweilge’s hands, removing his glove in haste with an irritated huff when he couldn’t immediately feel the warm, calloused skin under his palm and fingertips.

Gweilge chuckled brightly and laced their fingers together — as they always did, their hands (a bigger one and a smaller one) fit just so.

“What if I show you instead of telling you?” Gweilge asked in a voice so deep Gascon could almost _feel_ it in the air between them.

Gascon didn’t answer. Instead, he found himself rising up on the tip of his toes until the familiar, beloved face in front of his went unfocused from the closeness and his lips finally touched Gweilge’s.

The kiss tasted like relief — like a reassurance and a promise. At first, Gascon was content to merely feel Gweilge’s weight on him and breathe in his scent (laced with the lingering, acrid smell of smoke) from up close; yet he quickly grew impatient, as he was wont to do. His naked hand crawled up and squeezed the nape of Gweilge’s neck, rubbing the sweat and grime covering it with the pad of his finger, while the other settled on the curve of Gweilge’s waist and simply _held_. A sigh bloomed like a delicate rose between them. 

Clever fingers had just crawled into Gascon’s curls to pull at them when Gascon felt cold prickles dance on the top of his nose and ears and heard a faint _tap-tap-tap_ ping, and he realised — it was raining.

Gweilge seemed to come to he same conclusion. He pulled back with a wet noise, just enough for Gascon to feel each of his breaths fan over his mouth, and chuckled. Gascon couldn’t help himself: he grinned back and rubbed their noses together, just to see what reaction that would elicit, and was rewarded when Gweilge’s chuckle turned a little high-pitched.

“So, was that plain enough an answer for you?” Gweilge asked, a playful lilt to his voice. 

Gascon needed a few moments to remember what they had previously been talking about, distracted as he was by Gweilge’s fingers which had begun carding through his hair and pulling at its roots at intervals. 

_Mmmmmmmm._

“Yes, very much so. I am content,” came his belated response.

“Good. Can I ask you a question of my own, then, now that that’s cleared up?”

“Sure! Out with it, darlin’.”

“Alright. Now this may have been my imagination playing tricks on me, but I distinctly recall you calling me ‘my love’ earlier… My question is: are you going to deny having said such a thing?”

“Deny havin' said what? All I remember is you callin’ me ‘dearest.’” 

“Ach, you’re truly insufferable! Won’t you deign sate my humble, innocent curiosity?”

“‘Oh, I’ll sate your curiosity alright… Except there won’t be anythin’ ‘innocent’ about any o’ it, _my love_.”

Gascon’s arms were just encircling Gweilge’s waist to pull him flush against his body when a string of shrill giggles resounded nearby. 

_The kids we rescued_ , Gascon discovered as he and Gweilge turned in unison to see what was going on. The children were watching them with eyes alight with amusement, hiding their giggles behind small dirty fists, and Gascon felt the corners of his lips quirk up in yet another smile.

“My my, I’m afraid you’ve caught us in a rather… compromising moment,” he teased, raising his eyebrows comically high. 

The children giggled some more, until one of them—a little girl with a shock of frizzled red hair whose colour could barely be made out beneath all the dirt coating it—sobered up a little, took a few steps forward and, holding herself like a grown-up tasked with some grave, important matter, recited dutifully:

“Good sirs, we jus’ came to fank ye fo’ savin’ oos. Hen Ceridwen says ye’re good men who didn’t have t’ come lookin’ fo' oos.”

Gascon immediately looked to Gweilge to observe his reaction, getting lost in the sight of rain droplets pearling on his forehead and cheeks and sticking wetly to his eyelashes. He was beautiful. Although a veil of bittersweet melancholy had fallen over his almost-black eyes, his features were open and relaxed. 

_He seems… at peace._

Gascon’s contemplation was cut short when Gweilge, briefly squeezing Gascon’s side with a large hand, disentangled himself from their embrace and walked slowly towards the little girl, his steps light and graceful as ever. 

He then crouched down to the child’s level, and said warmly:

“Thank you for coming to see us. I can’t speak for Gascon over here but, for my part, I guess I wanted to help because… well… there’s nothing in this world that’s stronger than friendship, love, community, family. Nothing that matters more. Don’t you agree?”

“We need to stick toge’er — ‘s dat what ye mean, sir?” a scrawny boy with a tattered hat asked, his gaze on Gweilge wide and awed.

“Quite.”

“Wow… Ye’re pre'y smart, Mister Elf!”

“Mamma always says dat, too!”

Gascon watched as the three children flocked around Gweilge to ask him excitedly about the scar on his face—“That’s a long story, little one,” they were told patiently—and his hair “like one o’ dem beautiful fairytale princesses.” The little girl was pawing at Gweilge’s ringed ear, appearing to marvel at the fact that it was long and pointy just like hers, while the other boy in the group promptly sat himself into Gweilge’s lap, his grin so wide Gascon could see he was missing one of his front teeth.

The rain had cooled the hamlet’s smouldering embers and made all the dust and smoke settle. Gascon knew he and Gweilge would need to go back to the Falcons soon — but he allowed himself a precious minute to be grateful, to hope, to _feel_. 

When Gweilge turned to him with a soft smile and beckoned for him to join in the merrymaking amidst a concert of squeals and giggles, Gascon knew the memory of this moment would be a guiding spark of light amidst the darkness in times to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed. ♡
> 
> Credit goes to @[queenmevesknickers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenmevesknickers/pseuds/queenmevesknickers) for the story's title. :) 
> 
> A few etymological notes on the names in the Elder Speech:  
> \- **Angharad** : Welsh name meaning “more love” and appearing in Welsh mythology  
> \- **Pelydryn (Pela)** : from Welsh _pelydryn_ meaning “ray, sunbeam"  
> \- **Hen Ceridwen** : “old” in Elder Speech + Welsh name for a gooddess or sorceress featured in medieval Welsh legends
> 
> For those of you I confused with Gascon's epithets in this story (rightly so), my headcanon is that Gascon’s unofficial name as leader of the Iron Falcons—other than Iron Falcon as per canon—is Father Falcon. The F alliteration fits the pattern established with Gascon’s epithets Duke of Dogs, Prince of Pariahs, Thane of Thieves, Baron of Brigands and Marquess of Mendacity, while Father is a mocking reference to religious fanaticism.
> 
> As usual, you'll find me on tumblr @[theleavesoflorien](http://theleavesoflorien.tumblr.com)! ♡


End file.
